


Sirius Black I

by unspeakable3



Series: Christmas with the Blacks [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Black Family Drama (Harry Potter), Black Family-centric (Harry Potter), Christmas, Christmas Eve, Ficlet, Ficlet Collection, Gen, Prompt Fic, Prompt Fill, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-02
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-25 21:54:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21652594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unspeakable3/pseuds/unspeakable3
Summary: All was quiet in the Black household, for a change.
Relationships: Black Family & Black Family (Harry Potter)
Series: Christmas with the Blacks [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1560991
Comments: 4
Kudos: 13





	Sirius Black I

_Christmas Eve, 1853. London._

All was quiet in the Black household, for a change. The baby had been fed her tonic and would sleep now until morning, with any luck. The _paterfamilias_ was lounging with the newspaper in his favoured armchair in front of the fireplace, where the yule log was burning brightly and filling the drawing room with the glorious scent of rosemary and spiced apple.

Sirius Cygnus Black lay heavy-lidded on the chaise longue, his head resting in his mother’s lap, and tried to stay awake long enough to watch his younger siblings complete the popcorn garlands they were threading.

Elladora had been pestering Mama all week about it, and she had _finally_ relented and permitted the little girl to ask - or _demand_ , as was usually the case with Dora - the house-elves to pop some corn for her. They had rushed to the task, of course, because even at four years old Dora was quite terrifying when riled.

At least now she was at peace, sat cross-legged on the ornate rug with a serious-looking Phineas Nigellus, carefully threading sweet-smelling popcorn onto a length of sparkling silver thread. She was going to hang it on the tree, she’d said, though Sirius wasn’t sure if there was room.

He shifted slightly so he might see the enormous tree once more. It appeared like a great green giant, standing proudly in the big bay window, its uppermost branches grazing the ceiling. Countless twinkling fairies - stunned and collected by Mama - floated all around it, drifting between bundles of cinnamon and dried oranges, sprigs of holly and ivy and mistletoe all nestled in the tree’s boughs.

And at the very top, there was a dazzling silver star.

Sirius smiled, remembering how Papa had given him the star to hold and lifted him up onto his shoulder so he might fix it to the topmost branch of the tree. He had woken up in a terrible, shaking sweat later that night and had to drink so many foul-tasting potions and Mama had looked _so_ worried, but it had all been worth it to see the pride on Papa’s face, reflected back through the shining star.

Papa said that he, Sirius, was named for a star: the dog star. The brightest star in the night sky. Papa said that the Naming Seer told him and Mama that his legacy would shine on through the generations, whatever that meant.

“Well,” said Cygnus, turning the pages of his newspaper with a noisy rustle. “It seems as if I owe Augustus seventeen galleons; all appears to be running smoothly with that damned muggle rail station. I expect _our_ involvement greased the wheels, as it were.”

“Do you hear your Papa, sweeting?” cooed Ella, as she brushed back the dark hair from her son’s damp forehead. “It will only be a few more years until we stroll over to the rail station and wave you off as you board the train to school. Won’t that be lovely?”

“Yes, Mama,” Sirius croaked.

Cygnus raised a bushy eyebrow and peered at his wife and son over the top of his newspaper. Sirius turned back to the Christmas tree. He knew what that look meant; he knew that it was unlikely that he would ever make it to Hogwarts. His little brother had overheard Papa and the Healer talking about his _disease_ and rushed straight into Sirius’s room to tell him all about it.

 _“They said it’s terminal,”_ he’d said. _“I looked it up in my dictionary. It means—”_

 _“I know what it means,”_ he’d replied, crossly.

Sirius had forbidden Phineas Nigellus from telling their sister about it - not Iola, she was just a baby so she didn’t count, but _Dora_ \- because Dora would go _mad_ and start shouting and throwing things and Sirius didn’t think he could handle another Dora-induced headache.

He had been ill for as long as he could remember. Maybe for his whole life.

Mama blamed London itself. The city was filled with a horrible lingering fog that drifted from the Thames through the cobbled streets, smothering anything or any _one_ that crossed its path. The sky was heavy with smog and soot - a result of the muggles burning their coal, Papa said - and it fell like ominous dark snow to stain your skin and clothes.

Mama and Papa rowed a lot. Mama wanted to leave London and return to Germany, where there were green forests and swift-running streams and maybe a chance for him to get better. But Papa said that he was a Black before he was a husband, was _Paterfamilias_ before he was Papa; he would never leave London, never leave his ancestral home, and never allow his son and heir to be raised in a foreign country.

“Finished!” Dora announced. She darted over to the armchair and thrust her popcorn garland over the top of Papa’s newspaper. “Look!”

“Very good, Elladora.”

“Look, Mama!” she demanded, shoving it in Mama’s face. The trailing end tickled Sirius’s nose and he tried not to sneeze.

“Oh, how beautiful! Well done, darling!”

“Look, Sirius!”

“Can I eat it?”

“ _NO!_ ”

Dora snatched the garland away from his reach and marched over to the tree. She draped it haphazardly over some of the lower branches and Sirius wondered how long it would take one of the more fastidious elves to tidy it up, and how long it would take Dora to notice.

“Hurry _up_ , Phineas Nigellus. You’re taking _forever._ ”

Sirius glanced back down at the rug and saw poor Phineas Nigellus still frowning over his own garland. He had barely managed to string five pieces.

“You finish it,” he said, with a world-weary sigh. “It’s a terribly tedious task. Sirius, would you care for a game of chess?”

Sirius eased himself up and tried not to groan or wince. He felt Mama’s steadying hand on his back and squeezed his eyes closed to try and blink away the stars that always appeared after he had been lying down for so long.

“Take it easy,” she murmured. “You’ve a long day ahead of you tomorrow.”

“I know, Mama.”

**Author's Note:**

> The first Sirius Black was born in 1845 and died in 1853, aged just eight years old. He was the older brother of Phineas Nigellus, Elladora, and Iola.


End file.
